Prologue

It was fascinating how a change of scenery could mean a change of perspective. On things. On life… How all of a sudden things that she had never had the time or leisure to appreciate could become precious very quickly. Sunsets. Wind brushing through the palm trees. The soft rolling of waves against the beaches. Maybe it was a trick of the mind, a way her consciousness, always so fixed on fixing things and setting matters right, always so busy and occupied, latched on to these little precious things to not fall apart. But that not falling apart felt good. It gave peace. More so than she had ever thought possible.

It was one of those evenings, night almost falling already, the sun almost set behind the darkening waves and she was walking along the paved promenade somewhere on Sicily, enjoying things she had never had the time or nerve to enjoy: the animated chatter of a few people playing checkers on the small wall that separated the cobble stone promenade from the sands, the soft strumming of a guitar, played by a 20something boy with ruffled hair who had a cap set out in front of him and that was admired by a few giggling teenagers in a safe distance, the cries of seagulls overhead. It was a peace she had never known yet often longed for. A peace she had never really thought was meant for her. For them. Surely never for them. But that was the past.

She could feel the soft warm summer breeze brush the light fabric of her summer dress against her ankles as she walked along, lost in her own thoughts, her life in DC, all the hectic, all the drama, all the hurt, so far away, distant yet close, a cherished memory with a tinge of melancholy. It had been four years. Had she changed since then? Or was the old Olivia Pope just too hurt, had she just been too close to snapping apart, to coming undone so that she had retreated like she had to find some peace of mind? Thoughts like that had become rarer with time, giving way to a feeling of comfort. True comfort. Four years. A time that on that evening, in the warm sun as she strolled along seemed strangely blurred. Not important. Just the moment counting.

Therefore the sight of him should have come as more of a shock – maybe. It had been four years and then some, some months and summer was coming. He would be free to go where he wanted now, as free as he could be that was but she had not had expected… not planned… She slowed down. He did not even face her, but she was sure she would have recognized his silhouette anywhere, from almost any distance. He was near a small bridge, sitting in the sand, wearing casual pants, slightly rolled up and a half sleeve shirt. He must have missed that kind of casual attire in the years that now lay behind him.

She stopped in her tracks, just stood there. A family of four, chattering about the easy things of a summer vacation – ice cream and sandcastles and kittens in the sun – passed her by and for a fleeting moment melancholy hit her and the wish that she could have all that. Could have had. With him. For a moment she just stayed where she was, watching him. She had not seen him in years. Avoided his image on television even until she had reached a point where it had almost been easy for her to cheat herself into believing he was just a distant memory. A fling of the past. Of course, that was not true.

Without her doing almost she found herself approaching him. Reached an edge in the wall that separated the beach from the promenade, slipped off her sandals and stepped onto the still warm sand, shoes in one hand. It seemed not her own will but it came naturally, one step after the other, no hesitation. Had she really believed that she could stay away from him forever? That sooner or later, fate wouldn´t lead them back to one another? Step by step until her shadow crawled up his back, his head, then met the sand before him. He turned, blinked his eyes a bit against the sun.

He looked a lot, almost completely like she remembered him. Maybe his face was a bit more lined, surely his hair was a bit greyer. It was a known fact the presidency made men age before their time but he had made it through well. Two terms. He nearly looked the same. But she couldn´t tell about his eyes, somehow she couldn´t. The last time she had looked at him they had been darkened with grief for his son. How unfitting yet how very her to try and see if he was doing any better four years later. To try and see what of that grief lingered, or whether he had finally found some peace of mind, like she had.

He looked at her, calmly. If he was surprised, he didn´t show. He was just there, one minute she had been taking just another walk at the beach, the other he was there. Like a ghost from a past life, but just like the evening sun his presence was…soothing. And the moment his eyes met hers to see who it was that was standing behind her, she felt things fall into place, she felt that she had missed him. So much. "Hey." He said. How she had missed his voice, she noticed suddenly.

Seconds passed. She didn´t count them and neither said another word, then, slowly, a smile formed on his face. A smile she hadn´t seen in a long long time. Warm. Fitz. Fitz when he was feeling perfectly at ease. "Have you ever dreamed of Vermont?" she asked. "That house?"

He seemed to consider it for a moment, still looking at her, then she could see his body heaving in a small sigh. "Yes." he said. "I´ve been dreaming of Vermont. And other places, Livvy. Just like you are. Right now."

Those four years they had been separated. They were blurry. And all of a sudden she knew why…because this wasn´t real. Not the beach. Not the sunset. Not this face she loved, slightly changed by the strain of another four years. Because those years had not passed yet.

There was no transition between dream and waking. The dream was just gone, he was just gone, one moment to the next and she found herself staring at a ceiling traced with the rays of an almost full moon. She stared at the window pattern for a minute or two. Well….twelve days, she thought. She had been able to lock him out of her thoughts for almost a fortnight. That was probably a personal record.